


Brooklyn’s Here

by Assassin_In_A_Hoodie_1899



Category: Broadway - Fandom, Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Angst, Brother, Death, F/M, Hurt, Jack & Crutchie, Jack & Race, Newsies broadway, OC Emily, Panic Attacks, Possible Character Death, Sad Jack Kelly, Sad Spot, Stabbing, little brother
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:28:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22459510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Assassin_In_A_Hoodie_1899/pseuds/Assassin_In_A_Hoodie_1899
Summary: The man slowly stepped away from me, looked at his hands then at me. At what he just did.I slowly sunk to the ground.“Should have just given me the money.”I was just sitting there, gasping. Just trying to breathe. But Its kinda hard to breathe with a knife in my lung.
Relationships: Jack Kelly/Katherine Plumber
Comments: 13
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1: Jack

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Trekkiehood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trekkiehood/gifts).



> This is my first fanfic publishing here. Be gentle. Thanks you @Trekkiehood for helping me edit this!!! Thank you!!!

"Aye watch it!" I slap away the hand of the small kid who went up for a hug and instead started sticking his small sticky hands into my empty pockets. I don't have any money to be stolen...or pockets that doesn't have holes in them. I don't mind giving money to kids. I hate to see anyone hungry, but around here most kids who try to pickpocket just end up giving it to some bully. 

It's 4 o'clock, the sun dipping low in the hot August skies. It may be time for everything to start cooling down but the heat is still in the air and my shirt is completely soaked through, making it stick to my back. 

I woke up early this morning to sell my papes so I could make the three-hour walk to Brooklyn. I lost almost half a day's pay, but that isn't important. This is more important than worrying about if I'm eating breakfast in the morning, 'sides, the nuns feed us. I don't make it a habit of coming to Brooklyn, but when I do, it's because I need to talk to Spot. And every year, on this unbearably hot August day, me and Spot have a meet-up. 

When I first meet Spot Conlon I was nine years old and very new to the newsie life. As it turned out, I hated Spot. A lot. But it was fine because Spot hated me right back, maybe even a little more. Fists was never thrown 'tween us, but every time we saw another we danced on eggshells. Over a few years, we grew more friendly with each other, stopped trying to throw each other in the mud face first. We went from hate to tolerance, and ending with almost family. Spot went from a bull wanting to run me over, to an annoying older brother who worries a bit too much. 

We finally became friends when I was fourteen and Spot was sixteen That's when our little "incident" happened. All I can say is that it involved ice-cream, a dress, the Pope, and a monkey. Spot and I are sworn to secrecy to never, ever tell, even under threat of torture to ever tell what happened that day. But after that,Manhattan and Brooklyn became close allies. So to keep this peace and as a reminder to never tell anyone of the incident that happened between us, me and Spot meet every year. We pick a cheap place to ear, or just simply get a soda. We switch every year who pays for the food or drink. This year is Spot's turn. We makes it so that we meet at the buyer's turf, that way they get a full day of selling.

I saw Spot two weeks ago. He gave me the place we were meeting. I look back down at a scrap of paper with Spot's sloppy handwriting, then back up at the building. The sign above the door read," Winnie's Place." Sounds homie. I was about to climb the old stairs to the place, when a middle-aged man with a thick graying beard busted out the swinging door dragging an older man by the seat of his pants and neck of his shirt and throwing him down the three steps.  
"Stay out ya drunk! Don't come back 'till you paid your debt!" The bearded man dusted his hands off and walked back inside the... bar? Did Spot lead me to a bar? I don't drink, Spot knows that. The old man slowly rose from the ground. He was dressed in almost rags . There were holes in his pants and in the white stained shirt, he was bald with a thin, fading beard. He staggered for a few seconds then closed in on me.  
"Say, boy. You ain't got a nickel to spare for an old man, d'ya?" Half hopped, half limped to me, a hand thrust out, grasping at the air as if expecting me to hand him the money he wanted for his liquor. 

"I ain't got nothin' on me." I slowly sidestepped the man one foot on the stairs, not wanting to turn my back to him.  
"Come on boy. Respect ya elders. Give me a chance, will ya." The man stumbled closer to me. The stench coming from his breath and clothes woulda been enough to wake Racer from a dead sleep.

"Sorry." I turned and half ran up the stairs, ignoring the pleads from the old drunk. I push the swing door open, stepping into a roaring crowd. 

The place was a mess. Men gambling in the corners, a fight just starting to break out between two very drunk men, ladies on a stage dancing and singing, cheering, and drinking. Spot, why? Out of all the places in Brooklyn, why here? 

After weaving through the crowd of drunk people, I make it to the open bar. I sat the in cleanest chair that I could find my knuckles wood, but stop soon after realizing the wood was very very sticky.

"Hey, boy!" I looked up, the bartender was the same man who threw the drunk outside. Now he was waving a finger at me, "I don't serve no one under the age of eighteen, ya got that? So scoot!" 

"I'm not here for a drink. I'm waiting for a friend." I said trying not to let him see that I'm scared I am. 

"I don't serve loitering either, boy!"  
I hold up my hands to the man, trying to prove my innocence. I try again. 

"Like I say, sir. I'm waiting for a friend-" 

"Sure boy, I've heard 'em all before. Young boys with no respect for my rules! I know all the tricks.-" 

"Aye Winnie!" 

I turn on the stool towards the recognizable voice coming from the door. There stood the little King of Brooklyn. Spot Conlon.

Spot did the same thing I did, weaving through the drunk people, except he called everyone by name and slapped some of them on the back. So Spot is a regular. Spot drinks. Nice. 

"Aye, Jackie!" Spot says hopping onto the barstool beside me slapping me on the back. 

"You know this man?" the bartender asks pointing at Spot. I nodd. 

The man says something in another language clapping his hands together then rubbing his hands through his long beard. 

"Why didn't you say so! Any friend of Spot is always welcomed here. What can I get you." 

There is no menu laying around, or anything written above the back wall, so I just turn to Spot. Trying to play it cool. 

"Jackie here will have a basket of onion rings and soda pop. Same for me." Spot says laying down a hand full-on change. 

"Coming right up." The old man says and turns away to grab us our food and drink. 

I turn to Spot and give him a questioning look. Spot doesn't say anything, only rolling his eyes. 

"I ran to get him a doctor for his wife and baby once. Saved the baby and wife's life, see. So now Mr. Winnie took it upon himself to "adopt" me." Spot shrugged

And the rest?" I asked, waving to the crowd behind us. Spot rolled his eyes.  
"Sometimes I have to come down here and drag the boys back home."

"Ah. So you went soft on 'em." I joke. Spot gives me a death glare, slaps his hand over my sweaty shirt grabbing a fist full then making a fist with the other hand. 

"Ayee calm down Spottie. I'm only joking with ya." I raised my hands best I could.

"Your pretty nose better hope you are or I'll mess it up for ya." Spot let go of my shirt just as this Winnie fella came back with our food and sodas. 

"So, how's Manhattan Jackie?" Spot asks popping an onion ring in his mouth. 

"It's mid-august, so it stinks like fish," I answer taking a bite out of my food. The onion ring is still hot and dripping with grease. Disgusting but hey, who am I to be picky on an empty stomach? At least the soda's cold. 

"Eh, you don't live next to the bay. When it gets like this, the fish sometimes starts to go belly up." 

"Free meal." 

"Yeah Kelly, eating belly up fish sure is a fast way to fill a stomach only to empty it." Spot wrinkled his nose in disgust before taking a big gulp his soda. 

We have this unspoken thing, the conversation only lasts as long as the food does. Spot's my big brother, but the kind you only see on holidays and funerals. 

We talked for a bit. Spot asked me how Crutchie was doing. I asked him if he needed a new roof on his lodging house. Just our typical small talk. Then Spot smiled like he knew something I didn't. 

"So, tell me if I'm wrong," he began, wiping his hands on his pants," Because honestly when I heard about this I thought someone was sick or somethin'." 

"What, Spot?" I sigh shoving two rings into my mouth. I haven't eaten since last night. 

"I hears from Crutchie that after the strike you found yourself a pretty lady friend." Spot gives me a wicked smile moving his eyebrows up and down. Oh, he knows it's true. And he's going to nag me 'till the cows come home. 

I smile just at the thought of Katherine. I sold her a pape just this morning. Her smile is like the sunrise. I told her that I would be and I wouldn't be able to see her until other late into the night or the next day.  
"Ah, so it's true! You sly dog you! Who is it?" Spot took another mouth full of his soda. 

"It's um, Katherine Plumber." I wince slightly, unsure of what his reaction will be.

Spot suddenly snorted his soda out of his nose. I groaned as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand. 

"Katherine Plumber? Pulitzer's daughter? That Katherine? Same doll?" 

"Women ain't dolls Spot." 

"Yeah, yeah, Brooklyn slang. Pulitzer's daughter?" Spot's brown eyebrows are up so hard they're almost in his brown hair. 

"Same Katherine." I take a long drink from the soda almost finishing it off. 

Spot doesn't say anything only whistled, smirking at me, then bumping me with his shoulder. 

"What about you? You got some girl 'round here?" I ask taking the last of my onion rings and final drops of my soda. Spot didn't answer me, only shoved the last of his onion rings into his mouth. 

"Spottie?" It was my turn to raise my eyebrows.

Spot shook his head. 

"Come on Spottie." I elbow him. He glared at me, finishing his soda. 

"I'm waiting." I say with a smirk, turning around in the stool and resting my elbow on the sticky counter. Spot doesn't say anything for a minute, 'till he pops his last onion ring into his mouth. 

"Its... complicated." Spot mumbles not looking at me. I look at him, raising my eyebrows at him waiting for a further explanation. "What's difficult Spottie?" 

Spot didn't say anything, then cleared his throat. "The, um... talking part."

"I'm sorry what?" I ask turning to Spot. His face was beet red, "you can't...?" I started giggling, which turned into full-on doubled over laugher. 

"Shut up!" Spot hissed at me. Kicking my leg. Which only made me laugh harder. 

"Food is gone. I'm gone." Spot said shorty hopping off his stool. I was still laughing, getting down from the stool and following Spot out the door. Once outside, the air had cooled a bit, but the humidity was still in full force. The sun was about an hour from setting, the meeting place was an hour walk from Spot's place, but a two-hour walk from mine. It's not safe walking New York at Night, no matter who you are. An easy mark for getting mugged. But I need to get home, I told Crutchie I would be home tonight and I need to work tomorrow. 

"You need a place to sleep?" Spot asked using his hand to block his eyes from the setting sun.

"Nah, I's got to get back. Told Crutchie I would be home. Plus I got to get to work in the morning, I love ya, Spottie, but I missed the evening pape bein' here. Gotta make money somehow."

"You sure? You can bum some money from me if ya need ta.I don't want some 'Hattan boy screaming at me 'cause you got mugged." Spot turned so he was fully facing me. The Big brother I never had. 

"'Preciated but I need to be home," I said holding my hand out to Spot.. 

"Last chance Jackie." His eyes held a little too much concern. 

"Stop worryin', Spot. If you don't hear nothin' I'm home, if ya hear somethin' I'm probably dead. 'kay?" 

Then Spot got serious stepping closer, but not too close, so he could whisper somethin' to me.

"You didn't tell no one did ya?" He's talking about the accident, the reason we even meet every year.

"I didn't even tell Crutchie. You say anything?" I whisper back. 

"If I told anyone, I'd lose my rep in Brooklyn." 

"That or called ya an idiot." 

"Aye," Spot said pulling away from me. He fixes his hat on his head, then nods at me. 

"Same time next year." Spot started walking down the sidewalk. 

"Only if you grow three more inches." I badger. Spot stops walking, turns, and lunges at me. I jump back. The Brooklyn boy smiles, pointing a finger at me, 

"You know I can soak ya, Jack Kelly." 

"Sure thing Spot." I say, walking away from him. 

"I know where you live." 

"Okay, Spot." I wave behind me, smiling, and turn the corner. 

I start the long walk home, wishing I brought some kind of money to a lest get a trolley ride home, but wishing didn't get you much. I walk no more than five minutes before I feel someone drag me from behind into an ally-way. I didn't have any time to respond or throw a punch at who every grabbed me before my back was shoved against the brick wall and a knife was pressed into my neck. The gold setting sun shone on an old man's face. The same man who was thrown out of Winnie's. The same man who was asking me for money. 

"Hey, boy." His breath smells so heavily of liquor that my eyes began to water. One of his front teeth is missing, the rest are yellow or black. 

The oldest part of my brain wakes up. The part that supposed to keep me alive. Preparing me to either run or freeze. Every fibre in my body pushing me. Commanding every cell to not move unless I want to be headless before I can even take in the next breath. I've had this happen to me before, same story just different chapter. A cold sweat starts in my hands and drips down my back. I start thinking of every way I can run, but I can't move as long as he has a knife pressed up against me. Think Kelly. Run kelly, Run! 

"Like I said before. I don't have-"

The man's fist collides with my right temple so hard I see white, I would have hit the floor but the knife bit into my skin. 

Stand up jack! Stand up! I inwardly scold myself.

"Shut up." The old man growls. His hands find my pockets and start turning them out. 

I blinked hard. Come on Jack, get your grounding! Come on, think!

The drunk's hand lowered so did his eyes, I saw my chance and took it. I threw my knee hard towards him. The drunk stumbled over and lowered his knife. I raised my hand and grabbed this shoulders ready to head butt him, but before I could-  
.....He lunged at me.  
I couldn't even scream, I didn't even gasp. I let go of the drunk, he let go of me. 

The man slowly stepped away from me, looked at his hands then at me. At what he just did. I slowly sunk to the ground. I was just sitting there, gasping. Just trying to breathe. But... I.. Its kinda hard to breathe with a knife in my lung.

Stabbed. I was an idiot.

I was- 

I'm- 

"Should have just given me the money." The old man said. Then ran off leaving me alone.

I looked down, blood seeps out from the small knife stuck into my ribs. I raise my hands slowly, pressing around the wound. The blood instantly made my hands wet. My heart was beating out of my chest.  
I need to get home. I need to get home. The boys, Crutchie. I can't stay here in the ally. I can't..No! This is not happening. This is not real. This is not happening. This is not me. I am not here. I am not.  
I-I.. I'm.

I was- 

I need to- 

I...

"Jack? What are you- Jack? JACK!"


	2. Spot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spots point of view

It must be nearly ninety degrees in the shade. I’m standing on a corner of a street in the shade of a towering business building. I told all the boys this morning before we even set out to change up their selling spot, find a place with some shade and change with the time of day, get under something at noon. I says to them,” If I find one of ya standing under God’s open sky without a hat or shade under ya head, I’ll soak ya so bad ya won't even know if the suns shining” 

“Read it right here! Mouse kills the Bull in Saturday's match.” I waved the pape over my head, attracting the hard-nose man to me. He grunted, handing me a penny. I hand over the paper to him. 

"Thanks ya, sir," I nodded to him as he walked away trying to find the article I said. It will take him about four blocks for him to realize that I lied. 

A woman with a baby stroller is coming from the other direction. She’s all dressed up in a silky red puffy dress. I turn away from her and fold the paper in half and start up a real good cough. I cover my mouth, hunching my shoulders and wave the pape. The woman's foot steps hurry toward me and she puts a white-gloved hand on my shoulder. 

“Oh my! Are you okay?” She asked her voice full of that loving care and kindness a mother only knows. I gave her my best watery pup eyes, and forced my voice to become scratchy. 

“I'm Fine Ma’am. Just a little cough,” I looked away and cough again. Her clean hand moves from my shoulder to my cheek. I freeze. 

“My poor boy. Here take this.” She took out a dollar coin from a pocket in her dress and pressed it into my hand before I could say no. She didn’t move her hand away from my cheek but gently started to stroke it with her thumb. She's making her purty glove all dirty, and me very uncomfortable. 

“You look like a smart boy. I lived on the street once,a long time ago, use this to go get some medicine.” 

Too much, that's way too much money. Way too deep in Conlon, pull up and pull back. 

“Thank you ma’am. But ya d’nt have ‘ta.” 

“No, take it. It breaks my heart every time I see a kid working on the street. You take this money and go home to your family and get yourself fixed up okay.” 

I bit down on the inside of my lip hard enough to draw blood. It's not so much the money it’s just too much money from a lie. Stealing from a mother and her baby fast asleep in the basket. Hey don’t get me wrong, I lie all the time. I lie to get food, clothes, to sell papes. To get a dime, sure. A quarter lets me know I’m not losing my touch. 

But it's a dollar. That’s a day pay. I'm stealing from this kind mother. She gave my cheek one more pat before walking away. I want to put my hand over were she touched my face. It's like I can still feel her hand there. I reach up and touch my cheek. Still kinda feels warm from her gentle touch. 

I hear a cough from above me. I whip my head up sliding into a fighting stance ready to soak anyone who just saw that. Above me on the side of the building, sitting on the ledge of a building is my right-hand man, Mutter. The boy is always up or tree or something like some freak squirrel. 

I would have called him Squirrel when I first met him but he never talked. He never speaks, unless it's under one word and barely over a mutter. This is what happens when you tell a kid to shut up so many time. They tend to, Shut up.

“What?” I quip at Mutter. Wiping at my cheek in disgust with the back of my hand. I hate being touched. It’s too... foreign. 

Mutter looks down and sticks out his lower lips, batting his eyes at me. Faking sympathy.

“Not! A Word. You got it. Not a word!” I say pointing a finger at him. Mutter makes a locking motion over his mouth. Then throws away the key. 

“Good.” I look from him to the paps in my hand, I count how many I have left. Five, but the setting sun let's me I'm cutting it close on my walking time.   
“Hey, Mutter. What the time?” I ask. Nothing stands up on the ledge and looks inside the building for a clock. He cups his hand over his eyes and looks through the window. He turns and holds up three fingers. I’m going to be late for meeting Jack. 

I fish around in my pocket to count how much today's eaning. A dollar and five cents. Plus a dollar from that lady, two dollars. Think I have enough to pay for Jack’s food now, a real meal this time. Mutter dropped from the side of the building and stands next to me. He looked up at the sun, adjusting his hat over his eyes. 

“How’d you like it if I gave you more papes,” I said to Mutter. He gives me a begrudging look. “Wasn't a question.” I says handing him the last five,“After you sell these get home and out of the heat. Make sure we have enough fresh water.” 

Mutter raises one eyebrow. “Where yous going?” 

“Got a met’n with Jack Kelly. I’ll be home around five or six, depends how long we’s talk.” Mutter gives me a worried look. I wave him off. 

“All good things, I'll be at Winnie's. If I'm not back by Mid Night look for me then, okay?” Mutter nods. I nodded back and head out. 

The sun is unforgiving. Relentless constant heat. Makes everything smell like sweat and fish. I made the mistake of selling my papes a week ago around the market where they sell the “Fresh” fish. I've all but sworn them off my eating diet. 

It is about an hour's walk to Winnies from here. The streets aren't too bad, its just hot. Winnie's is not out of my way per se since I goes down there at least once every two days. Not to Winnie’s that is, but a small bakery next doors. I don't go into the bakery, I've seen inside it but ever stepped inside. But today is the day I do it. 

After the hour walk, I make it to Winnies but, I cross the street to the bakery next doors. The sig above the brick building reads,“Aharon Bakery.” A little Jewish family owns it. And my luck is alive and well because the most beautiful girl I've ever seen is working the front. 

I check my reflection in the glass of the next shop over. My face is flushed from the heat, streaked with dirt. Can't do a thing for my sweat-stained shirt. Or my stained paint...or the holes in my boots. I take off my hat and was about to wipe my face clean. Kinda just smeared it. Leave the hat off? I smooth my hair down, combing it through with my dirty fingers, thenstick the hat in my back pocket. Or should I hold it in my hand? But hair looks greasy, better leave it on. Why am I so dirty? I sigh putting my head on the glass. Forget it. Forget it! I’m not going to do it. I can’t shoot my shot if I ain't got anything to shoot with.

Then I picture Nothing flapping his arms, call’n me chicken. Well, Spot Conlon is no chicken. I’m cool. 

I’m cool. I tell my sweaty palms as I grab the door handle. The bell abovethe door lets out a small ring. The place smell like what I have always imagined heaven to smell like. Baked bread. 

There she is. Her beautiful head of blond curls is covered by a cloth triangle and is typed back behind her ears. Shes dresses in a beautiful white dress, not a smidge of makeup to cover her wide smile. 

My knees go weak, I'm thinking about turning around and walking away but I'm too late. 

”You going to order something or just stand there?” She asks. Her hands are on her wide hips. 

I want to say something but my mouth suddenly goes very dry, I'll choke if I talk. It's eight maybe ten steps to the counter. I look up to the menu and try to think of something, anything to say. Order, and fast. Then I'm standing at the corner. And I thank God above, that I'm taller than the counter, and her. She has dark brown eyes, there are purple rings under them, I’m wondering what she does that causes the dark circles, when she clears her throat.   
“You gonna want something or are ya going stand there.” She says. I think of every baked good that's wonderful and I can't make the words connected to my mouth so all that's makes it's way out is-

“Baked Bread.” 

I am a through breed idiot.   
‘  
Her eyebrows scrunched together in question and confusion. “You want a loaf of bread. Like a whole loaf.” 

I almost says yes, almost, but I stop myself. 

“No- No. Um.” Stop. Think. Breathe. talk. Now. You're blowing it Spot, you're blowing it. I pull my smirk out and take a step out looking at the shelves. 

“What’s good.” 

She smiles and dust off her hands. They are incredibly small and have some burn marks on them, some more fresh than the others. 

“I’ve just made some cupcakes an hour ago. Want one?” 

Sweat drips down my back. The sweat that is pooling in both of my palms of my hands is getting so bad I shove them in my pocket. 

“Sure.” Ask how much. Ask her how much. She comes back with a small cupcake in her hands. White cake, pink frosting curled on tip dusted with a powdery sugar I've only seen in windows. 

“Eight cents.” 

My mouth goes dry. That's actually a lot. A lot, lot.   
Just pay it! Pay it and go. You look stupid, she thinks you’re stupid and short. And dirty. Who smell like a pig. 

I grab the change in my hand and just fish out what I have. I see a dime, a penny, a nickel, I have everything in my hand. I have a couple of pennies. I’ve just lost the ability to count. Is this a penny? Or a dime. Just give over a dine. Or a nickel, a penny. Or just- 

My hand starts shaking and I'm sweating, I'm overly sweating. I'm stuck, standing there looking at my hand trying to remember how to count. 

She can see you sweating. Just give her the money! GIVE HER THE- 

A hand appears on my palm. Slightly burned fingers pluck out a nickel and three pennies. Her fingers just briefly touch my sweaty palm and she’s gone. The cash register opens, coins drop into the slots and then closes with a ding. 

I..am...beyond mortified.   
“The cake is yours.” She pushes the round cake across the counter to me. 

Take the cake and go. 

I grab the fluffy pink thing by the wrapper and just about to turn around and leave, hope springs into action. 

“So, you got a name.” She asks leaning over the counter to rest her elbows. 

Give her a name. Just your name. One word. Just the one. 

“Conlon.” 

First name! What is your Frist name! 

“Spot,” I say with a tremer I didn’t want there. I almost gave my real name. 

She cocked her head to the side in question, “Your name is Conlon Spot?” 

“Yes. I mean no. Spot Conlon.” I’m thinking about holding out a hand for her to shake but no one want to shake a sweaty man hand. 

“Emily.” She says with a nod.   
I nod. I got a name!

I don’t know what to say so I take a bite out of the cupcake. 

How-WHOA! 

I almost moan ‘cause it’s that good. I've never had the luxuries of having a cake every once and a while. But this. 

“Is it good?” Emily asked really hopeful. Even if it tasted like moldy bread I would still say it tasted fantastic, but fantastic is not a word I would use. I at least swallow before speaking. 

”Did God himself make this ?” I ask pointing at the cake, “Or at least with holy water?” 

She laughs, and that what God did make. It’s beautiful. A small little snort at the end of each laugh. 

“Um..You actually got a little....” she points to her nose then at mine. I cross my eyes and see a small dab of pink frosting on the tip of my nose. I quickly wipe it off, now I'm blushing again. I just so happen to glance out the window. Jack is making his way into the building going up the stairs backwards.   
What is he doing?

“You okay there?” Emily asks. 

“What? Oh, um. I'm meeting a friend, I just saw him. I um, should be going… now.” I'm slowly backing away toward the door. 

“Okay. I'll see you again, right?” 

Is she asking to see me again? Do I come back after I see Jack? Or is that too soon? Or is she trying to say come see me… later? Or is she- 

“Spot!” Emily calls out to me but it’s too late. I knock into a little side table and chair and, what how you know I fall over. I hand in a heap on the floor. 

GET UP! 

I quickly stand up and upright the chair. And turn to the door. 

“Spot, you okay?” Emily is coming around the corner but I've got one foot out the door. 

Say something. Please! 

“I’m- Don’t- I’m fine, no biggy, doll. It’s okay, I can't break what's already broke.” 

“um okay.” She waves but doesn’t smile. Whhhhyyy did I say that. Out the door just get out the door. Go! Now! 

I don't wave back, I just leave and starts to cross the street to Winnie’s. I wanted to stick my hands in my pocket but white smushed cake and Pink fluffy frosting stop me. I clutched the stupid thing too hard in my fist and now its nearly impossible to eat. No wonder she didn't smile. I killed the cupcake. She probably thinks I'm some stupid short idiot that has no manners whatsoever. 

I don't want to throw the cupcake on the street right here but there’s nowhere to give it up. What if she's watching me? Why am I like this? 

“Can’t just throw it away.” I mumble. So once I cross the street and am standing in front of Winnie’s, like the pig I am I shove the thing completely in my mouth in two sloppy bites. I make sure there’s no frosting on my mouth and go inside Winnie’s. 

Winnie’s is always crowded, but it’s not hard to spot Jackie sitting by the bar. His hands are in the air like he’s at a stick up, Winnie has a finger in his Jacks face. Kid can’t stay out of trouble. 

“Like I say, sir. I'm waiting for a friend-” 

”Sure boy, I've heard ‘em all before. Young boys with no respect for my rules! I know all the tricks.-” 

“Aye Winnie!” I shout over the crowd. Jack turned around look’n all too relieved to see me. I start wading through the throng of drunk people. When I can’t push past a drunk man I grab them by the shoulder and growl into there ear, “Move.” They moved. I finally make it to the bar and hop up to sit on the open stool beside Jack. 

“Aye, Jackie!” 

“You know this man?” Winnie asks looking at Jack but points at me. Jack gives Winnie a very serious nod. This kid is acting like he saw someone thrown outside by the seat of his pants. Winnie slips into Hebrew and starts clapping his hands and rubbing his beard. He looks almost as happy as the day I delivered his firstborn...Not a day I want to relive ever again. There's a seven month old Sean Winnie crawling around somewhere. 

“Why didn’t you say so! Any friend of Spot is always welcomed here. What can I get you?” 

Jack calmly turns to me trying to play it cool. Not working Jackie. Winnie doesn't own a menu. I've memorized what the menu is everyday incase I ever find myself dragging one of my boys back home. Today the fresh-ish thing on the menu is the Onion rings served in a dirty basket. But hey, I've never had a soda colder than Winnies. 

“Jackie here will have a basket of onion rings and soda pop. Same for me.” I dig in my pocket and count out the right change. I can count my money now but put a girl in front of me and I became a cluts. 

“Coming right up.” Winnie says then goes to the back to fetch the food and sodas. 

Jack turns to me and gives me a questioning look, looking from me to where Winnie went, I don't say anything to Jack but roll my eyes at him. I decided to tell him half of the story. 

“I ran to get him a doctor for his wife and baby once. Saved the baby and wife’s life, see. So now Mr. Winnie took it upon himself to “adopt” me.” I shrugged to hide the stutter I was about to do. I took five baths with lye soap and I still don't feel clean. 

“And the rest?” Jack asked, waving to the crowd behind us. I rolled his eyes at him again. He probably thinks I came down here to drink and frolic. I mean I do, but not every day, only on really, really bad days. 

“Sometimes I have to come down here and drag the boys back home."

“Ah. So you went soft on ‘em.” Jack jokes. I give him a death glare, I slap my hand over his shirt and grab a fist full of the fabric and raise a fist aiming to pop him in the mouth.

“Ayee calm down Spottie. I'm only joking with ya.” Jack raises his hands under mine, a big smile on his face. He knows I would never hit him, I need to slap him at some point, keep ‘im on his toes, keep ‘im guessing. 

“Your pretty nose better hope you are or I’ll mess it up for ya.” I let go of Jack all gently like just as Winnie came back with our food and sodas. 

“So, how’s Manhattan Jackie?” I asked, popping an onion ring in my mouth. It's disgusting, dripping with grease and tastes like at least five hands have been in it before it went to me. It's cheap, probably won't kill me, but at least the sodas are cold. 

“It’s mid-august, so it stinks like fish,” Jack says, taking a bite out of my food. His face wrinkles up in disgust, but he came to the same agreement as myself. Free food and cold drink, well, Jack is gettin’ free food. 

“Eh, you don’t live next to the bay. When it gets like this, the fish sometimes starts to belly up.” 

“Free meal.” Jack says. I really hope he’s joking about eating bellied up fish. I've seen kids die from getting too desperate for food. 

“Yeah Kelly, eating belly up fish sure is a fast way to fill a stomach only to empty it.” And die. I grab the cold soda and take a big gulp. It's too much so it kinda looks like I’m trying to hurry up and eat. If I spit some back into the bottle, Jack will notice. 

Jack is like some little brother I've never had. I don't see the kid enough so I'm constantly making up stuff to see ‘im. Like me making sure he keeps some secret between us. But the funny thing is I was the one talking to the pope that day, and Jack...well, Jack was the one wearing the dress. 

We talked. For about an hour and a half, I ask him about how his boys are behaving, if I need to go soak someone hurting him and how Crutchie’s leg has been doing. I saw him a little after the Strike three months ago, and he put a little bug in my ear. 

“So, tell me if I’m wrong,” I began, wiping the grease off my fingertips on my pants, “Because honestly when I heard about this I thought someone was sick or somethin’.” 

“What, Spot?” Jack sighs shoving two rings into his mouth. Hungry little fellow. 

“I hears from Crutchie that after the strike you found yourself a pretty lady friend.” I give Jack a wicked smile even going so far as wigging my eyebrows up and down. Oh, he knows I know. And he knows I’m going to nag him ‘till the cows come home. 

Jack looks down his hand blushing, heart in his eyes. Oh, he’s got it, he’s got it bad. And I've got it too. 

“Ahhh, so it’s true! You sly dog you! Who is it?” I took another big gulp of my soda. 

“It’s um, Katherine Plumber.” 

I coughed and all of the soda in my mouth came out of my nose like cold lava. Jack groans as I wiped my nose with my hand. 

“Katherine Plumber? Pulitzer’s daughter? That Katherine? Same doll?” 

“Women ain't dolls Spot.” 

“Yeah, yeah, Brooklyn slang. Pulitzer’s daughter?” I am in awe. How? I know I'm awkward and have no real chance with gurls. But Jack. Jackie boy? 

“Same Katherine.” Jack takes a long drink from the soda, almost finishing it off, he smirking. 

I couldn’t say anything, only whistled, smirking back at him, then bumping him with my elbow. I'm proud of him. 

“What about you? You got some girl ‘round here?” The smile falls from my lips. I turn away and just start shoving food in my mouth. 

“Spottie?” Jack leaned in close almost elbow to elbow with me. I gobel the rest of my food into my mouth. 

“Come on Spottie.” He elbows me. I glare at him, finishing my soda. 

“I'm waiting.” Jack says turning around in the stool and resting his elbow on the sticky counter. I wouldn't touch the corner Jackie, I've seen some things. 

I don’t say nothin’. I’m thinking of ways I can make ‘im drop it, maybe even lie. But I turn over my hand, and just under my wrist, a small dap of pink frosting. I can’t lie about her. She deserves that much. 

“It's… complicated.” I mumble not looking at him.

“What's complicated?” 

I clear my throat, this is so stupid. Why am I talking about this? How did this turn on me?

“The, um… talking part.”

”I'm sorry what?” Jack eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. I can feel my face flush a beet red. 

“You can't…?”

Jack started giggling, which turned into full-on doubled over laughter.

He's laughing at ya now Spot, in front of all these here spectators.

“Shut up!” I hiss at Jack kicking him hard enough to leave a bruise. But this only made him laugh harder. O’kay. I’m out. 

“Food is gone. I'm gone.” I says shortly, hopping off the stool. Jack is still laughing at me and follows me out the door. Wish he would stop.

It’s still hot outside, but no longer the same heat that makes your shoes stick to the pavement. The sun is about an hour from fully setting. I’ll be home just in time to see the first couple of stars when I walks through the door. But Jack here, it will be near midnight by the time he gets home. It's not safe walking in New York at night I don’t care whos you are, unless your me. It wouldn't hurt anything if let Jack stay the night. I’ll even give him the dollar that lady gave me for my lie. 

“You need a place to sleep?” I asked blocking my eyes from the setting sun.

“Nah, I's got to get back. Told Crutchie I would be home. Plus I got to get to work in the morning,I love ya, Spottie, but I missed the evening pape bein’ here. Gotta make money somehow.” Jack said shrugging one shoulder. 

“You sure? You can bum some money from me if ya need ta. I don't want some ‘Hattan boy screaming at me ‘cause you got mugged.” I face Jack. I care for Jack, I've never had a younger brother of my own. And I hate to wake up tomorrow and hear he died. That would kill me. 

“Appreciated but I need to be home.” Jack says holding a hand out to me to shake. 

“Last chance Jackie.” Come on Jackie. Come with me. It's smarter and safer. 

“Stop worryin’, Spot. If you don’t hear nothin’ I’m home, if ya hear somethin’ I’m probably dead. ‘kay?” 

Well that doesn't make me a bed of roses now does it Jackie. I was just about to grab him by the shirt and drag him home with me, but I thought better of it. I can’t just drag him with me. He won’t understand. So instead I say, 

“You didn’t tell no one did ya?” I’m talking about the accident, something I put behind me a long time ago. Because honestly it's funny.

“I didn’t even tell Crutchie. You say anything?” Jack whispers back to me, completely serious. 

“If I told anyone, I’d lose my rep in Brooklyn.” Yet you were the one who was in a dress. 

“That or called ya an idiot.” 

“Aye,” I lower my voice to a warning, I step away from Jack and fix my hat then nod at ‘Im.

“Same time next year.” I says walking my way up the street. 

“Only if you grow three more inches.” 

I stop walking, turn, and lunge at him. Jack jumps back shielding his side and head. I smile and point at him.

“Yous know I can soak ya, Jack Kelly.” I shout at him as he walks away.

“Sure thing Spot.” Jack says walking away from me. 

“I know where you live.” 

“Okay, Spot.” He waves back to me, and turns the corner. 

I stand there for a minute maybe two, I’m waiting to see if he comes back, if he changed his mind. He doesn't come back. I look over to the bakey across the street. At Emily. She’s sweeping, or mopping or somethin’. I look down and kick a rock into the street. I’ve bombed it. I killed my shot. Burned crashed. I can't go back in there's, not now. 

I sigh, I’m about to walk home when I look up just one last time. And Emily, is waving. And smiling. Waving and smiling. 

Is.. she waving at me? I turn to look over my shoulder- no there no one there. Do I wave back? Do I wave once or just one of those hand up hand down things? 

I wave back. 

She waves back again. 

We are waving. 

I’m still waving but she's waving, no not waving- well yes she’s waving but waving me over. She’s calling me into the bakery. She wants to see me. It bring an sloppy side smile to my face, so I didn’t goof up too much then. Or all is forgiven. 

I’m about to cross the street when an old man smacks into me from behind. 

“Aye! Watch it!” I whip around guarding my pockets for sticky fingers. 

The man turns to me, he's bald, dressed in nothing more than rags. He’s walking backwards. His face is as white as his stained shirt. He opens his mouth, says nothin’ just gaping at me. There is blood on his left hand, fresh blood. Is he bleeding somewhere? 

“Hey, you there o’kay Mister.” I'm not opposed to helping people, I’m apathetic not soulless. 

The man doesnt say anything. He just keeps opening and closing his mouth, then looks to his old wrinkled bloody hand, to me, then behind me. I turn around and look into the dusk lit streets. There people walkin’ but, I don’t think that's what he’s looking at. I turn back to the man to ask him what he's looking at, but he's already walking away.

You ever get that feelin’ that you know somethings wrong? It's starts with dread and slowly becomes anxiety. An sickness starts in your belly and your shoulder and spine starts to ache. 

I look back to Emily and hold up one finger a sign I will be right back, with Jack. I don’t know how or why. But something is wrong. I'm finding Jack and bring him home for a safe place to sleep, and if he is in trouble. 

I take off running. I know Jack turned the corner but from there I have no idea where he went. I run past alley after alley, all empty or some drunk just laying there. I run two blocks before I start finally yelling. 

“Jack!” He’s only been gone five mins, how far could he have walked?   
“Jack!” 

I push past a lady with a baby, and a man with groceries. As I pass the man, his groceries fall to the street. I don’t stop to help or yell an apology. My boots are ponding on the street, a stick is developing in my side but I run faster. I reach marker block number three. Come on Jack where are you?! I see him! I’d know that blue shirt and cap anywhere. 

He’s standing next to a bus stop. I'm panicking and Jack’s just standing there all calm like! Me, worryin’ like some muther hen, lookin’ stuput screamin’for him up and down my streets, yelling for the Manhattan turf ruler, lookin’ like a a fool. 

“Jack! Jack!” I’m ten feet away from him and he's not even turning around, “Jack! Will ya look at me! Turn around when I'm talking ya!” I grab his arm and whip him around to face me. It’s not Jack. It’s a kid, maybe just as old as me with yellow teeth and a crooked nose. 

“I aint no Jack! I’m Philip!” The guy rips his arm from my hand. I’m almost frozen. I raise my hands and just step away. I spin in a circle, I’m at a four way intersection. There are three, maybe four, different ways Jack could have gone. I just crouch down on the street, just balancing on the balls of my feet with my hand in my hair. Just trying to think and breathe for a moment before I take off running. 

Maybe I’m overreacting. I see a guy with blood only on one hand and instantly I think Jack is dying. Take off running before I can even think better of it. Emily probably thinks I’m some kind of weirdo now.   
Get a grip Spot. Go home. Jacks just fine. 

I stand up and start my walk home with my tail between my legs. I just pass the frist alley and hear a cough. A sick wet cough that suggests blood. I look into the dark alleyway. And on the floor. His back to the wall, is Jack sitting in a bloody pool of blood, and a knife sticking out if his chest. 

There’s a knife sticking out of Jack's chest. Jack… has been stabbed. 

“Jack? What are you- Jack? JACK!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was very long!! Comment


	3. Spot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve finally got around to writing the next Chapter! Yay..... anyway, warning as always. This is is a bit more graftic so warning for though who are very light hearted. Review, comment, Like! Do you boo boo

No. Not Jack. Anyone, dear God please let this not be real. Because it can't be real. This isn't real. This can't be real. I close my eyes, praying for a different human on the ground in front of me bleeding. Anyone. Just….Anyone else. Pick someone else.   
But when I open my eyes. It's still Jack.

“....Spot.” Jack coughs then groans in pain. 

“Don’t cough.” What do I do?

“Spot….”

“Don't speak either.” I've heard that. I saw a little boy get run over by a car once. The man who helped him told him not to speak. But he had a broken leg. Jack has a knife stuck into him. In one of his most important organs. 

“Spot…”

“Jack. Not another word.” My voice is thin, just louder than a whisper. It doesn't even sound like my own. How long have I been kneeling here? A few minutes?An hour? A day?  
My left knee is wet. Wet from the puddle of Jack's blood. The stuff slips through my fingers no matter how hard I push to keep it in. 

“Take….it...Out.” Jack wheezes out, a pitiful noise. A noise I've only heard come from a dying dog. 

No. No. Don't even think about that word. Don’t even think about it. But I can't think. 

“Spot.” 

“Jack if I move my hands you's be leaking like a busted fire hydrant.”

“Spot, please. Get it out of me!” Jack screams. I look from my hands to Jack’s face. He's crying. And very very pale. It's the pain in his eyes that snaps me back into my own mind. 

”Jack. It is fine. Jack, you look at me, you’re fine! You’re just fine.” I look into his green eyes for a second before looking back down at the knife. It's not a small swiss army knife blade. But some short handle knives but it has a thick wide blade that seems to have a curve in it. A straight blade is dangerous. But a curved blade…

I don’t know what to do. 

What do I use to stop the blood? A hat? His vest? 

“Jack. I need your vest off.” I wasn't even gentle about it. I just ripped the thing off of him and balled it up pressing it around the knife. He hisses and tries to move away. 

“Have to press hard Jacky or you’ll bleed out. Can’t have that now can we Jack?” 

Jack’s head bobs up and down. He’s breaths turn from gasping into heaving. From pain or blood loss, I have no idea. How long does it take for someone to bleed out? How big does a puddle of blood have to get before it's too late?

How am I going to make Jack walk back home?

“Okay,” I press the vest harder around the knife. 

“Spot.” Jack shutters. 

“Shut up Kelly.” 

Think. Think of something. You've been here before. I've seen kids get stabbed before. In the hand, leg, even throat in one case. But this is Jack. I'm still trying to get the two to come into the same world. That it's really his blood on my hands. Jack had been stabbed. There is a knife. Inside Jack. My hands start shaking. I'm losing it. I'm going to lose it if I don't think.

Deep breath. Make a plan. Follow the plan. Step one: help.   
I can't leave Jack to go get someone. I can carry Jack, but he's got almost a foot on me. Not impossible but it will hurt him more than me. 

Who could I even go to for help? Winnie's is full of Drunk men and Winnie won't leave his Bar 'till everyone is gone, and he won’t will he kick everyone out. It's not the first time I've tried asking for help from him. 

Emily. I can trust Emily. I can only imagine how that conversation would go.  
Hi Emily. I was wondering how to ask your father to ask you out. But first, my friend might die. 

“Jack,” I shake him ‘till his eyes crack open, “eyes on me, keep ’em open. You hear me? Eyes open.” Jack's eyes just crack open. Just. 

I look at the vest which is quickly getting more and more soaked with Jack's blood with every breath. 

Think. Think of anything. And fast. Now. I look into Jack's eyes. 

"I don't know how to carry you.” my voice cracks and wobbles. I can not cry. I can not break. I will not break. 

It takes two shaking breaths but Jack says, “I've been stabbed. I can't- I can't breathe .” 

“I know. I know. Don't think- ” 

“I can’t breathe- I can't breathe. There's a knife in me. He-e stabbed me.” 

A plan finally clicks into motion. I need to move. Now.   
“Jack we are going to move.”   
With one hand I'm still pressing his vest around the knife. I have to press my fingers on either side of the blade to keep it from moving, cutting Jack even more. I grab his arm and throw it around my shoulders.

”Jack. Jack we are going to stand up. Stand up now!” I push from the squat and pull Jack up. He turns a sick color of white as he stumbled to his feet and luckily kept upright.   
“We are going to walk.” I command Jack. I pull him up higher and squeeze him closer to me. I will not fall, I will not drop Jack.

"I don't think-” Jack starts panting hard from the effort to keep upright.

“Yes you can. It's not that far. Just back to Winnie’s but not Winnie’s. You can and will walk that far Kelly. On three.” I lock my knees and tighten my back for the lift. Jack could weigh more than me, except he's more just skin and bones. 

“Kelly. On three. Got it.” I shake him. 

Jack doesn't respond. 

"One. Two. Three.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Emily saw us coming. I was five steps away from the door and suddenly the door yanked open. Emily looked at me. Then Jack. Then the knife. Back to me. Then the knife. The soft pink in her cheeks drains from her face. Jack was just barely here, he was just dead weight in my arms

"I need help.” I was preparing to battle for any form of help, but Emily steps out of the door and gets under Jack's arm. 

When I first saw Emily I thought she was 5’3 maybe a soft 5’4. Emily must stand on a stool behind the counter of sweets. She just comes to Jack's armpit. A pitiful 5-foot shorty. 

“In the back.” Is all she says before dragging Jack and I through the storefront. We leave a trail of small spots of blood on the floor to the back. Emily leads us through a side room at the back. The kitchen. The smell of sweet sugar and blood and sweat almost makes sick right there and then. 

“There is a bed in the back. We will lay him there”. Emily said, groaning from Jack's dead weight. I pull more of Jack's weight onto me so that there is less on her. She weaves us through racks of donuts and tables of cookies to a small bed at the back door. It's threadbare and seems to be stuffed with straw, but it's somewhere Jack can rest. I lay Jack down and Emily grabs his feet gently lifting them onto the bed. 

”We have a first aid box.” Emily turns and rushes off to find a box. 

”Jack Kelly, you're still here.” I ask Jack, shaking his shoulder. His eyes are shut tight, teeth grit so tight it hurts just looking at him. If there’s a shade lighter than white, that’s Jack's face. 

“Grunt if you're still here kelly.” 

A long low grunt from Jack. 

”Good. Oh Good. That's good.” I nervously pat him on the shoulder. 

Emily comes running back with a very small tin white box with a red X on the front. It looks more like a sewing kit than something that will save Jack. 

”I hope you have a miracle in there.” 

Emily says nothing as she pushes the small tin box into my bloody hands. I open the box. There is a small roll of bandages, burn cream, scissors, and a few gauze dressings. Better than nothing. 

“What's his name?” Emily asks me, examining Jack's knife. It's Jack’s knife now. Does he want to keep the knife after this is all over? It's a nice knife, I might ask him if I can keep it. 

“Spot.” Emily's voice is no longer the sweet tone I knew, it's hard and cold and demands a response. 

”Jack.” I answer her. 

She nods at me, then turns back to Jack shaking his shoulder a bit. 

”Jack. My name is Emily.” Emily says to Jack, then she slowly moves away Jack's ruined vest getting a better look at the injury. 

”Scissors.” I look into the box and hand her the small pair of silver scissors. 

“Jack. I’m cutting your shirt so I can get a better look. I’ll buy you one later.” She says as she quickly starts cutting around the knife. 

The shirt was hiding the problem and once it was gone, my onion rings started to bubble up again for a retaste. I’ve been around some knife wounds. Most just trickle of blood if you leave the blade in.   
The blade is curved inside Jack so I knew it would be more blood. But not as much as Jack has been bleeding. The knife wound is also a slash and just from looking at it I know it’s deep, bone-deep. It’s like the man who cut him both stuck him and dragged the knife down a good inch a half. It's not bleeding like a broken pipe, but he's still bleeding. 

“ We should.” Emily's voice shakes, her whole body starts to shake, “We need-” Emily closes her eyes, seeming to ground herself for a moment. She clears her throat, opens her eyes, then grabs the gauzes from the box. “We need to get the knife out.” 

“No,” I said. It will open the flood gates. 

“He will bleed out if we don’t. We don’t even know how long the knife-“ 

“He will bleed out faster if we pull it out-.” 

“Did you check to see if the knife hit his lung?.” 

“Of course I did!” 

“The walk could have nicked it or somethin’. Jack!”   
A weight drops into my stomach. What if the knife punctured his lung? Why didn't I pull it out!? He was saying he couldn't breathe. He said he couldn't breathe but I thought- 

“Jack, open your eyes!” I shake him all gentle like. Jack's eyes slowly open. Wheezing he turns to me and says, “Spot-” then he coughs. And blood trickles on his lip. 

“Why didn't I-” I squeeze my eyes shut and almost just break down right there. I've killed him. I've all and done him in.

“He would have bled out cuz you would have had nothing to pack him with,” Emily says. Pack? Oh, we are not. 

“I can’t do that-” 

“He might die!” Emily shouts getting into my face. I know that, but it's going to hurt. It hurt so bad that you have to hold the person down and take every weapon away from them hurt. And jack… he won’t understand what we're doing to him no matter how long I yell at him. Where are Crutchie and Racer when ya need them? 

“We need to get the knife out first,” I say. 

“We need to get him on the floor first,” Emily says dragging his feet before I can even tell Jack what is happening. 

“Jack we need to put you on the floor,” I say grabbing him under the arms and do my best to lay him gently on the brick floor. 

“You hold him down. And I'll get the knife out and pack the wound.” she nods at me to position the few gauze pads she has in that pathetic first aid kit. I brace my hands on his shoulders. 

“Jack?” I bend my head down next to him so he can hear me, but he doesn't say a word, maybe he passed out. “Jack, we are going to pull the knife out then pack it okay? You're going to be just fine, Jacky.” I rub his shoulders and give him a small squeeze before putting all my weight on him. 

“You can do this right?” I ask Emily. She turns to me and nods. 

“Yes,” Emily says and starts to grab the knife but then gasps and leaps to her feet. My heart leaps into my throat. 

“What! What's wrong!” I look at Jack's bleeding chest. Is the knife sinking into his chest? Is his lung falling out? 

“I forgot to wash my hands!” she takes off running again to a sink. 

My heart nearly stops, I slowly release the breath I was holding. I sit back on my heels. Waiting. 

“Jack… just hang in there jack.” Jack still says nothing. 

Emily comes back after a minute, her hands are a bright red, she kneels back down and checks over everything again. 

“Okay. Okay. I'm ready now. Should I pull it out slowly or just pull it out quickly?” 

“Just get it out,” I say. 

Emily nods at me again and grabs the knife between her small thin fingers and slowly starts pulling it out. 

Jack’s eyes snap open and he bucks hard against me and screams. 

“Jack don’t move!” I bellow at him holding him down. 

“Stop!” Jack screams at me, tears streaming down his face, blood bubbling out of his mouth. He thrashes, kicking at the floor, his arms slap at my face trying to push me away. I put my knees on his shoulders and grab his arms, holding him down. Emily almost has it out.   
“Kelly, don't move!” I scream. What if he moves around too much and Emily stabs him in the heart or something. 

“It's out!” Emily shouts over Jack, throwing the knife in a corner of the kitchen. With the knife gone, blood flows freely from Jack's chest.

“Packing it!” Emily says. I watch her grab a gauze and stick it inside Jack's chest. Jack howls in pain. Bucking off the floor. Kicking on the floor. Trying to getaway. 

“Stop!” He screams so loud my ears pop from the sound. Blood sprays from his mouth and into my face. There is so much blood. 

I can’t respond. I don't yell at him to not move. All that escapes me is, “I'm sorry. I’m sorry. I'm sorry.” over and over again still Jack’s eyes roll into the back of his head. The fight leaves him. 

Emily has to shake me off of Jack. 

“I’m done.” She says. Her face is almost as white as Jack’s. I slowly get off of Jack and help her wrap a bandage around Jack's chest and lay him back into the bed. I want a clean shirt to put on him but Emily doesn't have anything. His blue shirt is cut and stained with his blood. His vest was thrown away. 

Home. I need to get him home. Home is an hour's walk away. The knife is gone. I don't have to worry about him bleeding too much now that he has cotton inside, nested between his ribs. I am drained, but I need to get him home to be stitched up. 

“I need to get him home,” I say. 

“What?” Emily’s brown eyebrows crunch up.

“I need to get him home.” 

“Where does he live?” She asks, wringing her hands together. She has fidget hands. Kinda funny how those hands just pulled a knife out of my brother. 

“Manhattan.” 

“There is no way you are going to walk that far. Especially at night!” 

The setting sun now. No more in fifteen minutes left of sunlight now. I need to send someone to let Crutchie and Race know what's up, those boys are probably worried sick.

“No, I’m taking him home with me. I'll figure out what to do in the morning.” I say scooping an arm under Jack's legs and chest. I pick him up. He's really wheezing now. It could just be me, but he feels smaller and lighter in my arms. Or maybe I'm not as short as I think, or… Jack’s not that much bigger than me. 

“You have a back door?” I ask. Emily just knows and leads me to a small wooden door that opens up to an ally away. 

“You live far away from here?” 

“No.” I lie. 

“Okay, umm, come by or send someone to give me an update, okay?” 

I give her a nod. And turn down the alleyway and start the long walk home. 

“Hang on Jack.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My arms are shaking so bad I'm afraid I'll drop Jack once I step over the threshold. Anyone who I passed on the streets who gave me a look on the trek back home I gave them a look that would curdle milk. Its night now. Just the moonlight to.see by. As we near the lodging house I could see the lights from candles and lanterns flickering in the poor cracked or broken windows. The house is probably just settling in for the night. But some of the Brooklyn boys never really sleep, we have some boys that stay up all night just for the kicks of it. 

When I kicked in the door, all eyes turn to me and Jack. The whole house inhales, then exploded. Playing cards flu, chairs are toppled over, and drinks are spilled all over the floor. Everyone is in my face with questions in a matter of seconds. 

”Shut it!” I shout at them. Every wagging jaw snaps shuts. 

”Mutter!” I call out making my way to the stairs to the small bunk room on the second floor. Mutter appears, weaving through the crowd of boys. His eyes go big marbles as he holds out his hands to help, but I keep Jack close to me. 

“I need stuff to stitch him up with, clean pants and shirt. I need someone to go on a run.” I turn and pick a boy out of the crowd. A small boy with dusty blond hair and a red sleeveless shirt.   
“You. Take a run. Tell Race and Crutchie to get up here as fast as they can.” 

“But it’s a three hour-” the boy starts to whine. 

“You will get there in an hour and a half even if it kills you. Go now.” 

The boy's mouth opens to say something smart, I cut him off. 

“Go now or I leave this house forever.” I would never kick a boy out. But tonight with Jack's limp body, and his pleading screams telling me to stop hurting him still echoing fresh in my mind's ear. I just can’t. I'm done.   
The boy turns and takes off running. I continue toward the staircase and start down the hall.   
”The rest of ya whos is awake, Hit all the gambling places, sell your shoes, don’t care if you have to steal. We need money.” 

Everyone stands around, looking at me as if I’ve lost my mind. 

“NOW!” I snap at them. They scramble around like rats for a second before all squeezing out the front door. 

I carry Jack into the bunk room and sit him down on my bed. Soft snores echo off the walls from the small figures in the dimly-lit room. How can they sleep at a time like this? 

Mutter is already there holding a lit candle and our small medical kit. 

I gently lay Jack down one last time, on my bed to just rest. To just sleep. I want to sleep. 

“I've got this. Clean yourself up.” Mutter whispered. I wanted to stay, but when I look down at my blood crusted fingers and the blood on my shirt from Jack, I think better of it. 

“I’ll come back with clean clothes,” I say turning to the small washroom.   
I grab the small bar of lye soap. I scrub at the lines in my palms and run one fingernail under the other fingernails to get Jack's blood out.   
What if infection sets in? Or his lung collapses, do we even have anything to relieve the presser? What if he's bleeding from the inside and I don't know it? What if Jack doesn't stop bleeding. What if...what if Jack dies?

My hands are red from the harsh scrub brush. 

”Stop.” I tell myself, ”Jack is going to be fine. Jack is going to be fine.” I put down the brush and dry off my hands. I take off my red shirt and scrub the blood out the best I can. There plenty of bloodstains on my shirt, what's one more going to hurt. I hang it over a chair. An older boy come by and give me a clean blue shirt and brown pants for Jack.   
I get back to Jack's side when Mutter was just getting the last stitches put in. Twelve perfect stitches are now along Jack's ribs. It will leave a big scar.   
Mutter helps me put the clean shirt onto Jack's sleeping body. I pulled the blanket up to Jack's chin making sure he was warm. Mutter grabs the medkit and reaches out to give my shoulder a reasserting squeeze. But I slap his hand away. I don't need comforting. Mutter gives me a hurt look before walking away to sleep or stay awake, either way, I didn't care. I just don’t care.

I pulled up a chair next to jack keeping a watchful eye on him.   
I didn't sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! If your reading this it means you read the story. Thank you! Comment! Like! Do you like here? Is that how this works?? IDK, but thank you!!


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